Ready to sing

A vignette from Colorado:

Kim and I went down to the bar that first night in Monument.  We were exhausted but had been given a food voucher, and a warm meal sounded great after a day of travel.  We sat down intending only to grab a sandwich and a beer, but we had walked into karaoke night and two guys sat down and introduced themselves.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm not the greatest in loud social situations, especially involving drunks.  Kim, on the other hand, is a social butterfly (one of the few ways we differ as friends).  So we wound up spending the evening with Nate and Travis, two really nice guys who also weren't there to booze it up but rather to indulge Travis' newfound passion. They had a pretty funny story actually - they were two guys who happened to attend the same MeetUp event a few months earlier, and while their dalliances with women hadn't played out the best, they became friends.  Travis was fairly recently divorced and had discovered a passion for karaoke, and while Nate was not a singer, he was more than happy to play wingman for the new vocalist.

They were hilarious, and you can imagine it didn't take long for Kim to offer that her friend Manda was a singer as well.  Travis practically jumped out of his skin with excitement, and I would have broken his heart if I hadn't agreed to sing with him.  I heard myself agreeing to perform Eminem and Rihanna's, "Love the Way You Lie;" Travis put us on the list and returned to ask, "Are you nervous?!?"  I thought I ought to be but with no lack of surprise and curiosity I answered, "Actually, not at all."  Both the guys looked surprised and impressed and Travis said, "Wow.  I can't wait for this!"

I'm used to the reaction after 27 years of singing on a stage, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a thrill when as soon as I opened my mouth, the room dropped in volume and nearly every head in the place turned to gape at the stage.  After Travis picked his jaw up off the ground, he absolutely threw down, earning us a standing ovation.  Mistakes and all, it was so fun. 

Much as I might try to ignore it, music has been making its way back into my life.  I have been feeling the pull to sing for people again since I attended Woodland Hills five or so years ago.  I heard God at the time absolutely convicting me to get involved, but I wasn't ready to act.

Then Sharon got sick, and when I couldn't sing for her on the oncology unit, I recorded a CD for her.  I performed at her fundraiser with no hesitation.  And then, four years later, a year ago next week, I sang straight from my soul to hers at the funeral.

Then, I went back to school last fall for grad school prereqs.  I did a double take when my professor walked into the room at Century; I knew him from somewhere.  It bugged me enough that I actually sat down with my photo albums one evening, searching for the familiar face. And there he was, Paul from the Madrigal Dinner Ensemble at St. Kate's back in 1996 and 1997.  We had dressed up in Renaissance costume to sing in Old English, dance between the tables, and ham it up for the crowd back in the day.  And now, 16 years later, Mr. Dykes was my professor.  We both got a good laugh at the photo I brought into class the next day.

Moving to spring semester, Dr. J mentioned an undergrad music major. Again, and 17 years ago this time, our paths had likely crossed at Luther College during music festivals, and I was given to remember the days when music was my existence.  It was just "what I did," just like the ambulance service is "what I do" now.  All the reknown choral directors, the festivals, awards, scholarships, and experiences.  So fun to talk a little music with someone who also had that life.

I used to be so self-conscious, intimidated, and driven by absolute perfection that I couldn't be comfortable with the idea of music as my career.  To get on stage and be that vulnerable, to open myself up to that kind of potential judgment, to give strangers an offering of my heart, began to send me into panic.  Somehow, over recent years, friends have come into my life who perform in church, in chorales, who own music publishing companies, who work in the industry in either production or performance - and I actually feel that I can still relate to them although I've not performed for over a decade.  At some point, and definitely by the time I was asked to sing at Grandpa's memorial.  Somehow, I've become unconcerned with the expected mistakes (which no one notices anyway if you're a good artist) or if I shed a tear; I'd now rather offer a performance that is real rather than perfect.  Though at times still uncomfortable, I'm willing finally to be big (to own my skill), to be loud (to be heard), to be looked at (to be seen), to put everything inside of me out there for the world to see (to be vulnerable).

Maybe it's as simple as...I like me now.  I'll let you see me.

It's not easy to own the capacity to move people to tears, to take their breath away, to gift them comfort during the most excruciating moments of life and dying.  That kind of power is terrifying: to stand on a stage and feel all that attention and pressure upon you, to publicly command a group of strangers into their own hearts and to invite them to share in mine.  I've lived my life thinking my heart didn't matter, but thank God, I've never lost it, not really. Music has sustained me, and you can ignore the little nudges and pushes for a while, but eventually you have to wake up.  Grad school didn't pan out this year but this thread still running through my life refuses to be further neglected.  I hesitate, but I simply must wonder, what on earth would the Universe would have me do with this?

--

“Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Mothering

I ran into my cousin Yvette as I was wandering around at the marathon yesterday.  It was such a wonderful surprise to see her, as our families don't get together as often as before in life.  It was sweet to be able to meet her big, healthy, sleepy two-month old son, their fourth.  We caught up as much as [isn't really] possible, me being in a rush to Exchange 2 and she with four children in tow.

She asked about my move and about school.  We spoke briefly about my thoughts surrounding a career change, the struggle and cost of pursuing graduate level medicine, during which I said, "I'm not sure patient care is for me anymore.  The system is so broken and...I've seen enough."

She could not have looked more surprised, and said, "Really?  But that's what you do!  I mean...you're just the mothering type."

Much as that statement sent a knife through me, it also brought my heart a great contentment.  To have a woman who's known me my entire life, who has four children of her own, tell me she's always been certain that I'm meant to mother and care for people, really affirmed me.  I've actually started to believe lately that I would be a bad partner and no good at being a mother, and maybe that's why God won't bring those things to me.

For just a moment yesterday, I found the hope.  Just a moment.  It hurt to breathe for the ache of my heart, but I was able to smile too.

Home

I was fearful that the silence and emptiness would be too overwhelming to stay these last few days.

I’m writing tonight (posting on the blog today) in Microsoft Word, since I have no Internet.  My home has been slowly emptied over the last four days, leaving me with nothing more than an air mattress, the dishes that were left in my sink, a plastic bag with underwear, bras, and socks; one pile of clean clothes and a uniform hanging in the closet.

There’s still some food, three pairs of shoes, my yoga mat, and my bike.  Yoga is an internal practice now for which I don't need a video or teacher, and I’m hoping to take my bike out for a nostalgic neighborhood ride if this grey weather ever lets up.  

There’s a ton of dust too.  You think you’re a meticulously clean person until someone moves your furniture…

I went for my last long run before Sunday's marathon when I got home from work.  Six-point-seven miles and shaved off seven minutes from last week's time!  After this year, this winter, this period of change, I don't think I've ever enjoyed the lilacs and apple blossoms more than I did tonight.  Now, since I don’t have a chair or a table, I’m lying on my belly with post-shower wet hair, in a yoga top (the only clean item of clothing left), eating a makeshift dinner off of a paper towel while my clothes finish in the washer.  The windows are wide open, a storm is approaching, and I can do nothing but breathe in the present moment tonight: the sound of the thunder, the crickets, and the blinds flapping in the wind.  I swear I can actually hear the absence of the electronic buzz:  no cable, no Internet, no TV…even my computer is solid state with no CD drive, and it makes not a sound.

Just me, the crickets, and the rain.  I love it.  Free of external cumbrances.  

When we were packing my things on Friday and moving boxes on Saturday, I was struggling intensely to remember all the things I would need to keep here with me.   I'm not a person who keeps a lot of stuff to begin with; if I don't use it, I part with it.  In fact, in the last month I've sold my stereo, my headboard, my Keurig, several appliances, and brought a load of clothes to Turnstyle.  I enjoy only having the things that have meaning or purpose in my life.  And yet, by the end of that day, with many of those seemingly necessary things accidentally packed and transported, I was left reeling at just how unimportant and unnecessary even these most basic of belongings are.  As of yesterday, I have no furniture either.   Just unlocking the door when I get home or closing a cupboard sends echoes through the space.  I’m literally living out of a few bags and on the floor. 

And it’s ok. 

It’s simple.  Uncomplicated.  Grounding.  Peaceful. 

For what I consider a pretty simple existence in the first place, I’m truly astounded that I don’t need even those last few items I thought I couldn’t get by without.  I’m reminded of the conversation in Italy with Roberto, when I expressed that I was surprised to feel very grounded and not far from home in this foreign place.  He put the feeling into words for me when he said, "That is because you have traveled far in your soul.  'Home' is inside of you." 

I'm realizing, for the first time and for the millionth time, that it wasn't the possessions that made this place home.  It was the people, the experiences, the memories.  That's why it hurts, not because it looks different.  Despite the sadness, upheaval, and utter lack of clarity surrounding this change, I’m reminded that everything has fallen into place.  I've done no definitive planning, I've just gone with what appeared before me and what felt right.  I have no idea how things are going to be ok, I just know they will be.  Even if my dreams don’t’come true.  Even if I don’t figure anything out in the next year.  No matter where I live or what I [do or don’t] have.

Just a few more days until my next new beginning.  In the meantime, home is still here, inside me and with me always.

Namaste

Well, we did most of the moving today.  All that's left is the furniture, my clothes, some toiletries and cleaning supplies.

It was not an easy day for me.  I woke up feeling so many things I literally wandered around for over an hour, feeling too paralyzed to even dress or look up directions to brunch.  I wasn't able to instruct anyone on what exactly needed doing today or what to move or where to put it at the new place.  Cried on and off all day.  Thank God for my friends.  Thank. God.

All I could do when I got home was fall asleep.  When I woke, I knew I had to run.  I actually didn't think it would go very well - running is all about the head game, after all.  But I took off in a novel direction, still in that weird head space, and sweat out five nonstop miles - and with minimal pain! The longest I've been able to run without stopping before last week was just two miles.

Dig deep, Manda, dig deep.  You know you can.

I had to scoot to Walmart before anything else when I got home.  My blank CDs got packed today, thanks to my lack of direction, and I had yet to make my accompaniment disc for Grandpa's memorial tomorrow (we won't even talk about practicing).  Didn't bother changing first because I knew I still needed yoga, and had missed class.  So when I got back from the store, all sweaty and gross, I put in one of Seane Corn's discs, needing to twist and breathe it all out, desperately needing the detox and knowing my teacher's inspiring words would encourage me.  It's not easy for me to accept help (i.e. love) from people, but it has been so priceless to me lately.  I want to share this here tonight for my friends, who came today to help me transition into the new, who reminded me throughout the process of everything below, and whom I hope will appreciate these words.

With love...

"Close your eyes, relax your hips, relax your spine. When tension releases from your body mostly it feels wonderful, but other times it can make us feel uncomfortable or even anxious.  This is because as tension releases, old repressed feelings can arise.  It's not uncommon to feel emotional when we practice yoga. If feelings do come up and we're not comfortable with them, sometimes we'll fidget in a pose, or think about our day or our relationships, or something other than simply being present.  I invite you to stay in your body.  Stay with your breath.  Continue to breathe into the tension, let go, and witness what, if anything, comes up for you. Releasing tension opens us to our vulnerability.  Vulnerability leads to surrender, and surrender, to love.

"Yoga tells us that everything in life happens so as to open our heart to love.  All experience, no matter how challenging, can empower us to grow and transform.  Our experiences, if we allow them, can teach us compassion, patience, understanding, and most importantly, forgiveness.  Embodying these qualities opens our hearts, making us wiser, more connected, and available to love.  Sometimes we get so attached to our story and we can begin to define ourselves by our past loss or pain. This is an energy that contracts, and we can get stuck in our resentment, sadness, or anger.  So consider your own emotional life.  Are there places where you feel stuck?  Do you still hold onto old resentments?  Is there space for you to see the places where you grew?  Where you learned understanding, compassion, or acceptance - not in spite of your experiences, but because of them?
"The ultimate cleansing of our body and soul is our willingness to let go and forgive.  Purifying ourselves of negative emotions through forgiveness is a practice that we go back to again and again, and is the most challenging yet rewarding yoga we will ever do.  What would it be like to forgive?  What would your life be like if you could let go of the anger, the judgment, the grief?  What would change?  What could be created?

"Relax completely your face.  Soften your shoulders, your arms, your heart.  Release into the earth anything that you are holding onto that is not of love.  Let go of resentment, disappointment, hurt, judgment.  Let go of heartbreak.  May our hearts open fully and completely.  May we embrace this love, share it generously and fearlessly and allow it to impact every aspect of our being.  May this love cleanse us, open and expand us and make us whole.  May we forgive.  Relax your hips, your legs, your feet.  And rest.

"We practice yoga so we that can be present, so we can open ourselves to the beauty and abundance that is our world.  It is such a privilege to be a part of this great creation, may we never take a single moment or being for granted.
"We give thanks for all of our blessings, for the food we eat, the air we breathe, and for the planet who gives us her all.  Thank you to all the people in our lives who have contributed to our growth and joy.
"May there be peace within and beyond, and may that peace unite all.  Namaste."

Namaste, sweet friends.  Your love makes my life, and may peace belong to us all.